


Simple Miscalculations

by Sapphic_Futurist



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, B.A.R.F. | Binarily Augmented Retro Framing, Bisexual Peter Parker, Bisexual Tony Stark, But the unexpected kind, Coming Untouched, Explicit Sexual Content, Inappropriate Use of Web Fluid, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Peter is in his 20s, Praise Kink if you squint, Restraints, Rimming, Science Experiments, Shameless Smut, Switching, Tony Stark Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:28:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23951572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphic_Futurist/pseuds/Sapphic_Futurist
Summary: “Kid, it’s me, let me in.”Oh fuck.“KAREN, tell him I’m not home. Tell him to get the fuck out of here. What the hell –”“I’m sorry, Peter, but I have a pre-existing protocol that was triggered when your vitals remained in a constant state of distress for over thirty minutes.”“You what?!”---In which Peter makes a simple mathematical error with unexpected but gratuitous results.(Now with a Pt 2. that nobody asked for).
Relationships: Karen (Spider-Man: Homecoming) & Peter Parker, Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 52
Kudos: 732





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a self-indulgent drabble in the Notes app of my phone while I waited for a pot of water to boil.  
> Somehow, a few days later, this happened. 
> 
> **Official statement for the record**  
> I would never want to see a relationship like this form in the real world, even after Peter had grown up a few years, because of the inherent trust and power dynamic that exists in this relationship canonically. A gentle reminder that this is a work of fiction, and in this 'verse Peter has finished college and the duo are working together in a more pseudo-equal relationship. 
> 
> As always, the author takes feedback willingly, but with a delicate heart. Enjoy.

They were going to revoke his undergraduate degree.  
  
Maybe even his high school diploma, at this point.

Peter shifted miserably on his bed, every slide of sweat-dampened sheets wreaking havoc on his nerve endings. The gravity of his error made him want to launch himself out the nearest window; splat, on the concrete below.

It had started as an experiment – a prototype of a new web fluid with the capacity to restrain even the strongest of super-enhanced heroes. He’d been working on periodically over the past few years and had finally thought he’d seen a breakthrough when the liquid both held fast against a variety of surfaces, and under increasing force variables. When the trials had been finished, he had applied the antidote liquid without an issue, every single time.

So, it was reasonable to expect today’s experiment would also be run of the mill.

Being the only super-enhanced hero that he was presently able to use as a test subject, Peter had settled himself comfortably in his meager apartment, late on a Wednesday afternoon and applied the webs to his left hand. It had held firm in an unforgiving grip against the wall behind his head.

Grinning to himself he had crowed his success to KAREN, the suit propped up in the chair in the corner, who had dutifully congratulated him, and he’d settled in to wait the remaining quarter-hour for the fluid to disintegrate after running through the series of tests.

Except sixty minutes had slid into ninety and he was still stuck fast.

Nothing to worry about yet, maybe a small calculation error with the new formula. He’d made the best of it, waited it out, played around a little bit with the thought of actually being able to be restrained for the first time in his life. The sexual possibilities were endless and new fantasies swam before his eyes, waking up his cock with intoxicating promises. 

Which was exactly how Peter had found himself strung up by one arm, and subsequently two, three hours later, after he had desperately tried to use his free hand to tug against the fluid, a vibrator buried halfway to his colon.

Peter had started to panic, as the fluid showed no signs of dissolution. KAREN tried to calm him, initiating his panic attack protocol pre-emptively, and had drawn his attention to a minor calculation error; a simple decimal point he had overlooked that had changed everything. Arguably, a similar change to the counteractive serum would provide similar results, but Peter hadn’t actually thought that far ahead.

Yeah, MIT was definitely going to revoke his diploma.

And the panic protocol wasn’t working.

It wasn’t going to work and he was going to be stuck here for ten fucking hours, body singing with pleasure that was too painful, coming untouched three times already from the vibrations against his prostate that he couldn’t manage to twist away from. He’d at least had the sense to ask KAREN to mute the video on the far wall, trying to gather his scattered thoughts.

He was panting, head back against the headboard, cold sweat trickling down his spine. But who could he call? What would he even say? Ned wouldn’t be here for hours and MJ would never let him live it down. His face burned at the passing thought of calling May, and he pushed the offending idea away quickly as it had come.

A sharp knock at his door had him instinctively curling his legs up, the position shifting the vibe. He bit down on a whimper. If he was quiet, maybe they’d just go away.

Another knock.

“Kid, it’s me, let me in.”

Oh fuck.

“KAREN, tell him I’m not home. Tell him to get the fuck out of here. What the hell –”

“I’m sorry, Peter, but I have a pre-existing protocol that was triggered when your vitals remained in a constant state of distress for over thirty minutes.”

“You what?!”

“The protocol prevents me from notifying you upon its activation. Don’t worry Peter, help has arrived.” The AI had the audacity to sound pleased with herself! Fucking KAREN.

He was throwing the suit in the trash the second he was unstuck; he’d never speak to her again.

“Kid?” Mr. Stark’s voice was firm, threaded with what sounded like a touch of panic and Peter wanted to die. He literally needed to find a way to kill himself in the next thirty seconds or–

The lock on the door _snicked_ open and something metal clattered against the floor in his entryway as Mr. Stark had no doubt hit it with a repulsor blast. He squeezed his eyes tight shut, refusing to bear witness to his mentor, who called his name again as he made the few strides towards Peter’s bedroom.

God why? Why was this happening?

“Peter, I know that you don’t appreciate me looking in on you and you can give me a lecture later but you should know I only ever have your best interests in - oh!” Mr. Stark’s voice came closer and ground to a halt, Peter assumed, somewhere around the threshold to his bedroom.

He swallowed hard, feeling blood rush to his face.

“Pete...”

“Please don’t.” Even to himself, Peter’s voice sounded small and pathetic. “Please just go, sir.”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about kid,” Mr. Stark replied, somehow managing a remarkably conversational tone given the circumstances. “Not like I haven’t been in this spot myself. Well, not this exact situation, I’ll admit. And also, more than once. So, no harm, no foul. Honest.”

“Oh god.” Peter groaned. “KAREN seriously what the _fuck_?”

“I am only looking out for your health and well-being, Peter.” KAREN replied immediately and unhelpfully.

“I’m going to toss you a blanket okay?” Mr. Stark said, and in a moment the scratchy knit throw that Aunt May had knit him when he’d first left for college was across his legs, covering the most embarrassing bits. “So, how’d this happen exactly?”

Peter peeked at him through one tightly scrunched eyelid. The billionaire hadn’t come any closer and despite his light tone, he had a pinched look on his face and his back was ramrod straight. At least Peter wasn’t the only one uncomfortable. Served him right for spying on him.

“I made a mathematical error.” Peter ground out and to his ever-increasing humiliation, Mr. Stark barked out a laugh. He visibly relaxed and came striding into the room, closing the space between the doorway and the bed in a few quick strides.

“Thank god, I thought someone had left you here like this and I was going to end up in prison later.” Mr. Stark said. He leaned over Peter and squinted at the webbing above Peter’s left shoulder, so close that Peter could breathe him in, all expensive cologne with a hint of Mr. Stark’s own natural musk that made his mouth water.

 _Get it together_ , Peter’s thoughts hissed at his prick as it twitched in interest against his stomach. _Traitor_.

“It was supposed to dissolve two hours ago. I guess that KAREN realized I was starting to panic and thought that, of all people, that I’d definitely, definitely want you here for this,” Peter forced out, sarcasm slipping off his tongue even as he struggled to keep his breathy voice smooth and even.

“Right, and after a couple hours you thought this was the perfect opportunity for a little self-abuse?” Mr. Stark said with a smirk. When Peter’s ears burned crimson, Mr. Stark’s smirk widened into a grin and he continued. “A budding hedonist after my own heart. You’ve really grown up, haven’t you?”

And then he winked at him. Fucking winked.

“Mr. Stark, please.”

“Doesn’t really feel like the right time for you to beg me.” Mr. Stark pointed out. And Peter really, really wasn’t against begging at this point. “It’s okay kid, we’ll get you out of this and everything will be fine. Just take a breath, okay? How’d you manage to get like this without your hands, anyway?”

“It was just one hand at first,” He admitted mournfully, “But then I started to freak and thought maybe two hands would be enough strength to– and I just– now they’re both... stuck.”

“I see, and what exactly are you trying to hold with this stuff, a tank?”

“It’s uh– it’s supposed to work against super strength.” He tugged his arms weakly. Then, quieter, “I’ve been working on it on and off since Leipzig.”

Mr. Stark gave him a blank look, his expression giving nothing away.

“Well clearly it works. A little refinement and this is going to be great, Pete! You should be really proud of this. Plus, you’re not a real scientist until one of your experiments blows up in your face so this is a win in my books, yeah?”

He eyed Mr. Stark warily as he started to prod at the webbing with a pen he’d retrieved from his jacket pocket. The gently praise and soft flattery was probably meant to make him feel better but it didn’t. Exactly the opposite; it made him feel hot and overwhelmed with a heady mixture of shame and lust, because who could resist their insanely attractive personal hero praising them for an invention-sexcapade gone wrong?

Peter was only a man, after all.

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes when the pen stuck fast, sinking in deeper when he tugged against the fluid, sticking out from the mess between his fingers and the wall almost comically.

“Can we focus, please?” Peter asked desperately, curling his body away, the hair on his arms prickling with Mr. Stark’s increasing proximity.

“Sure, kid, sorry. So, you said you’d made a–” Mr. Stark paused abruptly, eyebrows knitting together. “What the hell is that? Do you hear it? It’s like a... a buzzing?”

Peter swallowed hard. “It’s, oh god, just let me die. This can’t possibly get any– fuck. It’s– it’s me. It’s me, sir.”

“What do you mean it’s– oh god.” Mr. Stark’s eyes widened in surprise and for the briefest second, his eyes flicked down onto his lap where the outline of Peter’s desperate erection was plainly visibly through the blanket. Peter dropped his gaze, eyes fixing on the base of Mr. Stark’s throat and as he watched his Adam’s apple bob, he swallowed dryly, unable to meet his eye.

Peter would never look him in the eye again. After today, he’d probably be moving to Canada anyway. Canada was beautiful in the summer, right?

“Peter, is there a vibrator inside you?” Mr. Stark’s voice was a faint, disbelieving whisper.

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to– I can try and get it out? I don’t think I– god kid I don’t even know what to here. Just tell me what to do? What’s easiest for you?”

Before he could even open his mouth to protest, Mr. Stark was placing a hand on his shoulder in what was probably meant to be soothing, comforting gesture. Instead, Peter’s desperate senses soaked up the contact, re-wired it into pleasure, and he twisted sideways with a gasp, providing just enough pressure to shift the vibrator painfully over his prostate. 

Peter came with a bitten-off groan, vision whiting out along the edges. The orgasm ripped him apart, shaking through his limbs and wiping his mind blissfully blank as he tasted copper in his mouth from where his teeth bit into the tip of his tongue. The pain sent another jolt down his spine as wave after wave of delicious pleasure curled his toes and melted his insides to a puddle of warmth. For the briefest moment, he felt a wash of satisfaction before the overstimulation set in and Peter was breathing hard, twitching against the myriad of sensations.

His head slumped forwards onto his knees and the hand on his shoulder was snatched back while he sat there, prone and trembling.

“I– I am so sorry, Peter.” The horrified pitch of his voice was ice, sliding down his spine and cooling off the heated aftershocks instantly. Shame and mortification rushed forward again to take its place.

Peter let out a bubble of hysterical, miserable laughter.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m a good person. A really, really good person. What did I do to deserve this?” He demanded. “Just leave it, please fuck just ignore it, ignore me, and get me down from here. Please.”

“You got it.” Mr. Stark grunted back, clearing his throat. He was back examining the webbing, scanning it with a desperate intensity, and with the gauntlet that had abruptly appeared on his left hand.

Somewhere behind the blood rushing in his ears he could hear FRIDAY rattling off data and offering her suggestions but Peter couldn’t focus. Everything was too much and he was going to vibrate right out of his skin. Ripping his hands off at the wrist seemed like a good alternative at this point, he thought desperately.

He could live without hands.

And the buzzing was so fucking loud, rattling around inside his head. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breath.

Oh, he couldn’t breathe.

“Pete, Peter. It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re going to get you out of this. I just need you to take a breath.” When Peter made a pained noise, Mr. Stark took a step back, holding up his hands. “I’m not going to touch you, I promise, but panicking and fighting it is going to make it worse. Just listen to my voice. Try to breathe and relax. That’s it, kid. Now another.”

Peter took deep, gulping breaths, focusing on the soft lilt of the brunette’s voice. Focusing on anything aside from the damned buzzing.

“Can you tell me where you went wrong in your calculations? There must be something we can do to quicken the dissolution. I guess hot water and soap would probably be too easy, right?”

The joke fell flat between them and somewhere inside his muddled brain, Peter found words.

“It’s the adhesion ratios. I was off by one fucking decimal point.”

Mr. Stark whistled softly. “So, then it’s been maximized to what, the tenth degree? We’re looking at ten hours of you stuck here when it should be one? How long’s it been already?” When Peter didn’t respond right away, KAREN spoke, chirping pleasantly from her place across the room.

“Peter has been restrained for approximately three and a half hours, Mr. Stark. Might I suggest a review of the counteractive serum that Peter has also been developing?”

“Yeah that’d be great, actually. Good thinking, Pete.”

“Peter? May I pause your video and display the data?” KAREN inquired.

“Video?” Mr. Stark echoed, eyes snapping to the projection over his shoulder.

Peter had almost forgotten, having muted the video an hour ago, but now his eyes flickered up and his stomach sank.

When he’d first worked up the bright idea to get himself off, he’d directed KAREN to display one of his favourites from the literal spank-bank folder on his private drive, one that had become a fan favourite years ago.

Peter’s vision tunnelled and hollowed out and he already knew what his mentor was seeing now, what he must be thinking of him, because Peter was seeing and thinking the same thing. It was wrong and inappropriate and a serious betrayal of trust… of respect.

On the far wall, a devastatingly handsome, younger version of the genius before him now was strung up in his own restraints, arms pulled back, with delicate handcuffs holding his wrists fast against a gold-metal headboard. This version of Mr. Stark was naked, hair matted to his forehead with sweat, eyes blown so black there was no brown left. His lips were red and kiss-bitten, scratches like train tracks down his chest and deep, purple bruises littered his throat and shoulders.

He was sin incarnate.

On his lap, a thin, lean man with copper-brown curls was balanced perfectly on his cock, said cock disappearing over and over inside his body. If you didn’t look too hard, the man in his lap looked something like Peter did now. In the film, the lovers were moaning steadily and Peter had long memorized every gasp, every whispered plea for more, despite the volume being interrupted by the mute order.

How was Peter supposed to explain that? Masturbating to an old sex tape of his middle-aged mentor; the only guy-on-guy sex tape Mr. Stark had in the far corners of the internet, and one he had been hard pressed to locate after Stark Industries Human Resources had done their best to destroy all traces of it.

“Turn it off!” Peter cried, voice pitching too high, reedy and trembling. “KAREN for fucks’ sake turn it off. Why didn’t you– fuck. God _damn it_!” His head thumped back against the headboard and he wondered how hard he’d need to hit it to knock himself out.

As if the disgrace scalding his throat wasn’t enough, Peter felt tears trickle behind his eyes, threatening to spill.

“Hey, hey no it’s okay. It’s okay, you’re okay. If anything, you’ve got great taste. I mean that, this is by far the best one. My favourite of them all if I’m honest. And I’m flattered Peter, really, I think this could be really good for us. You know, good for my ego and all. Nothing to be embarrassed about. I’d probably do the same thing, myself, so seriously forget being embarrassed. We’ll just pretend that this hasn’t happened and breeze right past this. Easy, breezy, right kid? Yup, we can do this. KAREN could I get those stats now please?” Mr. Stark babbled on, but Peter had stopped listening.

_I’d probably do the same thing myself._

_The same thing._

Mr. Stark was still rambling when Peter cut in. “You’d probably do what yourself, sir?”

Brown eyes snapped up to meet his, wild and trapped; a caged tiger, which told Peter everything he needed to know in an instant. Mr. Stark opened his mouth then snapped it shut. No words came. His Adam’s apple bobbed again, almost audibly.

“You’d do what, yourself?” Peter licked his lips, swallowing hard.

Mr. Stark was sitting on the edge of his bed now, having sunk down onto the mattress when he’d first taken in the video. Peter glanced at his mouth, then lower when something caught his eye: the shift of an erection twitching against the inside of his dress slacks.

“I– That was inappropriate. I’m sorry, kid. God, this is the last thing you need right now. I’m sorry. I’m such an asshole.”

“Tony.” Mr. Stark’s eyes snapped up to his at the sound of his name, and the look he was giving him– that look made Peter’s balls draw up, tight against his body as heat curled headily in his stomach. “You’d do what yourself?”

“I’d watch.” He replied immediately, slowly shaking his head as if in disbelief the words were coming out. Peter was pretty sure he was hallucinating himself. “I’d watch a video of you. I wouldn’t even think twice about it and I wouldn’t feel bad afterwards. I’d watch it in a heartbeat, probably more times than I’d care to admit. God, kid, do you have any idea? Any idea at all?”

“Some,” Peter deadpanned, looking pointedly at the hard-on beneath the blanket, renewed with a vengeance, or maybe it never flagged to begin with.

“I can’t. You have to know that I can’t.” Mr. Stark murmured.

Peter’s heart rate ramped up because _can’t_ was a far cry from _won’t_ or _don’t want to,_ and even if this was some sick fevered dream, Peter wasn’t going to get caught up in ‘shouldn’t’s when ‘can’s were so clearly within his grasp.

Peter regarded him thoughtfully, confidence blooming in his belly as Mr. Stark’s dark gaze raked over him, so foreign to anything he’d seen in his face before. He hummed his response because Mr. Stark was glaring into the point where his thighs, making him want to moan. When Peter shifted on the bed, chocolate brown eyes track the lines of his hips, the span of his chest as he licked his lips and let his head drop back against the headboard again.

This time, he held Mr. Stark’s eye over the long lines of his body and let his knees spread just enough for the blanket to slip off his left knee, falling between his legs and revealing the pale length of his body, shoulder to heel. Peter went for a look that he hoped screamed confidence and _come here_ and _fuck me now_ , but the brush of cloth over his erection made him jump and the nerves rattling around in his chest made his breath come just on the short side of shallow. 

It wasn’t that Peter was inexperienced, not by half after he’d had the opportunity to experiment a few times through his college years, but this was Mr. Stark. This was… this was fantasy come to life and he was painfully unprepared.

“Kid, don’t.” Mr. Stark choked.

“Why not?” Peter murmured. “You didn’t say you don’t want me, sir.” He relished the way Mr. Stark stiffened at the word. “You said you can’t, but I’m telling you, you can. You can, and I want you to. I really, really want you to.”

Mr. Stark didn’t move, didn’t breathe.

“Please, Mr. Stark.”

The older man groaned, a hand scrubbing through his hair, before he was a flurry of motion, leaning over Peter and pressing him down into the mattress with a hand on his bare hip, mouth descending hard on Peter’s own.

The kiss was anything but gentle, desperate and vicious as Mr. Stark’s tongue prodded sharply into his mouth, dueling with his own, calling for its submission. His lips were plump and smooth, sinful in a way that exceeded Peter’s wildest daydreams and he quickly realized that no fantasy would ever live up to this; not now that he’d had a glimpse of the real thing.

He moaned into his mouth, curling upward to press closer into the slick heat of Mr. Stark’s mouth, matching him in eagerness if not in finesse, and Mr. Stark certainly had finesse. Years of experience were poured into his mouth, traded out for a taste of Peter’s eager abandonment. Peter bit at his bottom lip, drawing a sharp gasp that made him smirk as he pressed forward for a second nip, a third. The hand on his hip slid slightly upward, shifting the blanket to expose more of his stomach where it held him fast.

Everything in Peter was on fire. He was a live wire and every touch, every drag of Mr. Stark’s mouth against his own made him desperately wonder if he’d lose it again. His body screamed in protest that he couldn’t – not again – couldn’t come untouched again. Peter whimpered when another hand came up to first into his hair and immediately tried to jerk away from the added sensation.

It was too much. Too much. Sensory overload.

Mr. Stark’s mouth missed the distress, following the movement and pressing open-mouthed kisses into his throat, sucking on the pulse point. The glide of teeth along the edge of his shoulders made him jerk, cock leaking a steady stream of mess into the blanket, and he cried out in earnest this time, jerking back until his head bumped painfully against the headboard.

Peter felt like he was going to explode, eyes frantically searching Mr. Stark’s face as he panted desperately, too far gone to even vocalize what it was he needed. And god, how he needed.

“Oh fuck.” Mr. Stark whispered at him, a hand on his cheek in some semblance of desire and awe. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even think. This is a lot, right?” Peter nodded quickly. _Please_. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. I’m going to take care of you, Peter.”

And then cool air was prickling against his skin, a sharp contrast to the hand on his stomach that scalded his flesh. Mr. Stark shifted down, hand splayed across the inner thigh nearest to him to pry his legs apart and come to kneel between him. Peter squeezed his eyes shut, unable to take it. Tony fucking Stark crouching between his legs.

“Ah, hey, eyes on me, kid.” He husked and Peter’s eyes snapped back open, if only barely. Breath whispered along the length of his cock, and Mr. Stark laughed lightly, nosing at the base of his shaft. “I’m guessing we don’t have a lot of time to work with here. Don’t worry, I can’t fucking wait to taste you.”

And then his mouth opened, taking him in quickly and all at once, right down to the root.

Peter cried out and tried to curl in on himself, hips held fast, as pleasure exploded along every nerve ending, frying his synapses and short circuiting his brain. For a blissful moment it was all hot suction and slick, wet heat. One silken groan was all it took, with vibrations caressing his desperate cock, and Peter was coming, shooting streak after streak of pleasure into Mr. Stark’s mouth, down his throat.

Mr. Stark’s tongue laved him gently through the aftershocks, cradling the erection that, this time, faded to at least half mast in his mouth. Not quite sucking, but offering enough sensation that it was just on the right side of too much. Peter felt fucked out and overstimulated and he gasped out a pained sound as he shifted, feeling the vibrator still busying away inside him.

“Pete I’m going to take this out of you now, okay?” Mr. Stark murmured softly, gentle fingers prodding at his entrance to grasp the base of the toy and slide it out in a fluid motion.

Peter was too far gone to be embarrassed about the fact that the vibrator was a special edition of the sex toy line the Avenger’s has sponsored years ago: Iron Man red and gold with a little blue arc reactor painted onto the base.

His secret was already out, anyway.

“You’re going to kill me, kid. Honest to god, kill me.” Mr. Stark groaned as the buzzing stopped and the vibrator landed with a thud somewhere nearby.

Kill _him?_ Peter was the one who had just had his brains sucked out his dick.

“Fine, I’ll give you that.” Mr. Stark relented and Peter realized he must’ve said it aloud. He whined as Mr. Stark eased back from between his legs, fingers lingering on the inside of his thighs. His cock twitched in not-so-subtle interest and the brunette smirked up at him. “Your body is amazing. Just amazing. This is a super power I’d kill for. That, and I guess the gift of youth.”

The words came out light but with a sharp, self-deprecating edge that made Peter’s gut twist.

“Stop, you are literally in your prime. Seriously, Mr. Stark, never been hotter. Take my word for it.”

Mr. Stark patted a hand on his hip and moved to pull away, a placating look on his face that left Peter feeling chilled and uneasy because it barely contained something that looked like rejection and regret, and Peter didn’t have time for that. Not after this. Not anymore.

He wrapped his legs around Mr. Stark’s torso and held him fast in a quick display of his strength, while surprise fluttered across the other man’s face.

“Peter –”

“Please, Mr. Stark.” Peter asked but he wasn’t even sure what he was asking for. This just couldn’t be it. It wasn’t enough. Not that anything would ever be enough with this man, and he didn’t want this to just disappear into remorse or under the guise of some bad judgement call. 

Mr. Stark opened his mouth in an obvious start to protest, then cut himself off, eyes darkening. “I’m already going to hell,” he admitted with a shrug. “What do you want, Peter. Tell me. Anything. I’ll give you whatever you want, you have to know that.”

Peter gulped because of course he already knew that. “Fuck me.”

“God, fuck _me_.” Mr. Stark shot back, more a benediction than an order and Peter squeezed his thighs together, where they were pressed into the ripple of Mr. Stark’s ribs.

“Next time, I asked first.” He quipped and Mr. Stark bit the thigh nearest to his mouth, pulling a gasp from Peter.

“Gonna have to let me go if you want me to fuck you, kid.”

The legs wrapped around him instantly released. He watched through hooded eyes as Mr. Stark undressed quickly, backing off the bed to toe out of his shoes and pull his shirt over his head. Next time, he’d unwrap him himself.

Peter didn’t miss the way his hands trembled at his waist, the only give-away that Mr. Stark was anything but confident as he undid his belt and shucked off the rest of his clothes. The nervousness was endearing and it went straight to Peter’s head; he felt drunk on it.

“I’ve been thinking about this forever.” Peter blurted out, as Mr. Stark’s heavy weight settled back between his legs, chest pressing him down into the mattress, causing tension where he tugged futilely at his wrists.

“Tell me.”

Lips travelled along his collarbone, caressing and licking a path down to one taut nipple until they wrapped around it and sucked.

“Which one?” Peter’s breath caught on a mixture of a laugh and a moan. “There are so many. When I was younger, it was always s-sweet. You’d kiss me softly, hold me, teach me things I didn’t know yet. That didn’t really last long, especially after you and Ms. Potts ended things. Then it was hard and fast and desperate. You’d trap me against the desk in your workshop and tell me how badly you wanted me, practically drooling for it, and I’d feel powerful. Like the only one that could make you feel that way.”

Mr. Stark groaned into his stomach, dipping lower to bite a mark into his hipbone until Peter’s hips were rising up off the bed, chasing the sensation.

“Keep going.” Mr. Stark ordered, Peter’s stomach clenching because Mr. Stark was getting off on this. He wanted to hear it, to know that Peter had been imagining him and only him for the better portion of a decade.

Peter swallowed hard, wetting dry lips.

“The ones in my dorm room were my favourite.” He continued. “You’d – oh Jesus fuck – you’d be guest lecturing at MIT and you’d see me in the crowd, arm around some guy I’d been fucking that week and you’d – you’d corner me afterwards and drag me back to the dorm and –” Peter’s breath caught in his throat as Mr. Stark’s tongue prodded against his entrance, teasing the puffy rim, already mostly open and ready from his earlier activities.

The tongue stopped when his voice died.

“I told you to keep going.”

The order made his cock twitch.

“Oh, fuck.” Peter groaned and everything in him wanted to thread his fingers through Mr. Stark’s hair, press his face into his ass and force him to lick into him until he was sloppy and open and dripping.

Yeah, he definitely was going to get used to the whole bondage thing.

“And you’d know I was trying to make you jealous.” Peter continued. “You’d tell me it had worked and what was I going to do about it now that I’d started it? Oh god, Tony, fuck – you’d make me ride you until I’d come so many times around your cock, I couldn’t hold myself up. You’d hold me down and I’d let you, fucking me until I couldn’t even remember my own name. Until it hurt.”

Mr. Stark groaned long and deep into the cavern of his body, tongue spearing him open. “Shit, kid, where’d you learn to talk like that.”

A finger joined his tongue and Peter almost came, arching forward, desperate. The ever-knowing mentor that he was, Mr. Stark eased back slightly, replacing his tongue with two lube-slicked fingers, gently stroking him open.

“I’ve thought about it too,” Mr. Stark said then, tone light but pitched low enough to send shivers along his spine, as the fingers in him worked deeper. “So many times, I’ve thought about it. I know I shouldn’t have. It was wrong of me to look at you that way, but I’ve thought about it. Fucking you in every way imaginable.”

“Please,” Peter gasped out, eyes suddenly wet as the pleasure simmered to boiling, just below the surface. “Tony, _please_.”

“I love it when you say my name like that, all high and perfect. You’re gorgeous, Pete, so gorgeous. You want to know what my favourite one is, though?”

“Don’t–” Peter begged him desperately, eyes clenched tight as he fought to hold the orgasm back. “Don’t– just wait. Please.”

Teeth bit down on the inside of his thigh and the fingers inside him stilled while Mr. Stark wrapped his other hand around the base of Peter’s cock, squeezing hard. He fought to meet his eye, panting so hard he wondered if KAREN might activate his emergency protocol all over again.

The rasping scratch of Mr. Stark’s goatee brushed the inside of his thighs, grounding him as he nuzzled soft kisses between his legs.

When he could breathe easier, Mr. Stark’s hand was gone and his fingers pulled out, leaving Peter achingly empty for half a second before he was sliding into him in one easy thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

“Oh Christ.” Peter gasped, teeth gritting so hard they whined under the pressure. “Tony I– oh, oh god. No please don’t stop– don’t, just please.”

At this point he wasn’t even sure what he was asking for, but Mr. Stark’s eyes were on his and finally his mouth was back on his too, pressing blissfully hard for a second before they returned, with vigor, to his throat. The older man set a brutal pace, thrusting into him so deep, Peter had never felt so full, so possessed. Mr. Stark could take him apart and put him back together for all he cared, as long as he didn’t stop. Never stopped.

“I won’t, sweetheart, I won’t.” He must be babbling. “God you’re so perfect. So tight around me, like I knew you would be. You going to come again for me? Let me feel you come around my cock, Peter.”

“Tell me.” He gasped out. “Please fu– Tony I–”

Mr. Stark’s mouth was hot on his ear, hands on his waist, body pressed into his, covering him. He was consumed by him, the smell, the feeling, the _taste_ , and all Peter wanted was to hear him say it; to share the one fantasy that made Mr. Stark take himself in hand – all for him.

“My favourite one is where you’re fucking me.”

Peter came with a shout, cock untouched and flexing between their bodies, brushing up into the wiry hair of Mr. Stark’s belly, shooting streams of pleasure and making a mess of them both. But Mr. Stark didn’t stop there, didn’t even give him a moment to catch his breath.

He pounded into him harder, a hand coming down between them to grasp Peter’s cock and setting a brutal rhythm that was painful and perfect and Peter wasn’t going to go soft. The waves of orgasm kept rolling and he was simultaneously on the edge again. But he couldn’t – not again – god it would hurt if he did. _Please, no._

He wanted to weep from the pleasure.

“You can.” Mr. Stark gasped into his open mouth, sucking his tongue into his mouth as Peter lay limp and over-fucked in his arms. He was gasping, floating. “Come on, sweetheart, give me another one. Just one more, Peter. Come on. Say my name when you come, sweetheart. Let me hear you.”

The hand on his dick squeezed wickedly tight and Peter was coming again, or maybe he was still coming, gasping out his name like a prayer, twitching and shaking apart in Mr. Stark’s arms. Mr. Stark thrust harder into him, erratic now, with Peter’s own name on his lips as he shook apart, groaning into the divot of his throat. Heat blossomed low in Peter’s belly as he poured into him, laying claim to him from the inside out

Something shifted above him and for half a second, he thought he’d yanked a hole in the drywall from the sheer force of his orgasm. But the drywall held fast and it was the webbing that had ripped apart, falling like loose tinsel onto the floor beside him until his hands were free, coming to rest on Mr. Stark’s sweaty, cooling back.

Peter lay there, panting, for a long moment until he slowly came back into himself, Mr. Stark’s breathing evening out with his own. The lips on his throat now were gentle and soothing, pressing sweet promises into his skin.

Mr. Stark eased out of his body and for a moment Peter tensed, tempted to ask him to stay, but he let him go and as Mr. Stark rolled onto his back, he pulled Peter with him, cradling him against his chest while he trembled.

“Got you off.” Mr. Stark muttered against his hair, a horrible attempt at a double-entendre after the silence had settled comfortably between them. He’d tugged the sheet at the end of the bed up and over them, crinkled and worn. 

Peter shook with silent laughter and buried his face in his chest, letting the warmth of the afterglow wrap around them both as he tangled a hand in the back of Mr. Stark’s hair and sighed.

“You can get me off anytime you like, Mr. Stark.” Peter murmured; the words mouthed across bare skin. “Anytime at all.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't initially intended to add to this fic. Except. This popped into my head fully fleshed out three days ago. 
> 
> I hope the transition between chapters isn't too jarring!
> 
> And as always, the author takes feedback willingly, but with a delicate heart. Enjoy.

It’s neither of their fault that they hadn’t talked about it yet.

Peter sighed, heavily behind the curtain that was moments from going up, his nerves ramped up like butterflies on psychedelics in his stomach. They’d been preparing for this debut for months, but Peter had been preparing for this moment, specifically, for weeks. More than once, Mr. Stark had caught him running through his speech, teasing him with reminders that there was a teleprompter for their eyes only for a reason. Why bother trying to memorize anything?

But Peter was old school that way, maybe, wanting to assurance of the words pressed into his tongue like muscle memory. Actually, more realistically, it was probably just his anxiety. Either way, at this point, there should have been no reason for the excessive nervousness. Especially not with Mr. Stark’s hand clasped protectively and firmly over his left shoulder, keeping him both firmly upright, and rooted in place.

Yet then the whole web-fluid, compromising situation, broken dam to a decade’s worth of secret pining had been blown open. Wide open. The nerves were back with a vengeance.

It had only been three days since then.

Three incredibly long, comedy of error type days, where Mr. Stark had left him naked and, if anything, over sated in his bed after effectively fucking him into 2030. He had apologized profusely, promised he’d called, and darted out with his tie shoved in his pocket, gesturing frantically as he chewed out with some poor sap on the other end of the phone.

The following day, just as he’d promised, Tony had called.

Peter had picked up before the phone even finished it’s first ring.

“ _Hello?_ ” He said, breathless. Be cool, Peter, be cool.

“Hi Peter,” Mr. Stark drawled across the line, “Come over tonight. We should talk.”

“I’d–” He had been about to say he’d love to, because absolutely he wanted to.

They needed to talk. About a lot of things. And maybe fuck again. Definitely fuck again. But after they talked because Peter at least needed to pretend he was a responsible adult now. Plus, he could handle that. Maybe. With his eyes downcast if absolutely necessary.

But then he’d heard a tinkling laugh in the background, and a question that was hushed and muffled but unavoidably Morgan. The words died in Peter’s throat.

“D-Do you have Morgan for the weekend?”

“Yes, but you could come after, when she’s sleeping?” Mr. Stark suggested, undertones of hopefulness.

“I… Mr. Stark I can’t.”

“Peter–”

“I’m not saying I don’t want to, okay? And yes, we should probably talk. But not when she’s with you. I can’t, you get it, right?” He gulped, paused, and when Mr. Stark didn’t immediately respond, he suggested, “maybe Monday morning, before the presentation?”

Mr. Stark sighed, and didn’t push him on it.

“I’ll pick you up for coffee? Eight o’clock give us enough time, you think?”

“And bagels,” Peter added, “Because some of us need actual solid food and don’t survive off some weird caffeine-variant of photosynthesis.”

“Har, har.”

They’d agreed and hung up, leaving Peter to suffer through the next two days as he wrestled with whether or not to just show up at the Tower anyway. It wouldn’t take much for him to web his way up to the top and pop through Mr. Stark’s window after Morgan was sleeping.

Except if she caught them. That wouldn’t have flown. She was old enough now to have some semblance of understanding that people didn’t just turn up in her single father’s bedroom in the middle of the night. And if he went when she was there…

No matter which way he considered it, the fictional conversations kept ending the same way.

_“Peter! Come see what I’m making on Animal Crossing! I have the coolest new neighbor!”_ Morgan might say.

And Peter, a sucker when it came to indulging her, would open his mouth to agree, except – _“Your dad was inside me yesterday.”_

Cue horrified, traumatized Morgan number one. Or maybe.

_“Peter! Do you want to go to the park and see if we can find any frogs down by the pond?”_ Morgan might ask.

And Peter, the doting pseudo-uncle that he was, would obviously take her, except – “ _Your dad sucked my brains out through my dick.”_

God, it was disturbing to just think about.

He shoved any notion of seeing Mr. Stark this weekend to the back of his mind so fast, he’d given his frontal lobe whiplash.

Instead, following in his mentor’s footsteps, Peter had thrown himself into his work for the next forty-eight hours and waited patiently for Monday to come. In no time, he had corrected his errors with the prototype web fluid, run his series of tests, and placed a quick call to Bucky, who was due to return to New York next week, and had reluctantly agreed to be his test subject for the final product.

Peter tried not to cringe when Bucky had asked him if, as his test subject, he could have first dibs at a stash of the final product for personal use.

Thankfully, he’d had enough time to scrub his eyes out with soap before he boarded his plane Sunday evening, travelling to Boston first class. Mr. Stark had been insistent that if Peter refused to go with him on his private jet, the least he could do was let him pay for “a decent ticket and a five-star hotel.”

They’d planned to travel together initially, except Peter had made plans with MJ he desperately didn’t want to cancel, again, and Mr. Stark wouldn’t have been ready to fly out until the following morning. At the time it had made sense, but when the flight rolled around, Peter was kicking himself with images of missed opportunities to have Mr. Stark bending him over the luxurious seats in the private plane, fucking into him like there was no tomorrow.

A traitorous missed opportunity.

But the flight was fine, and dinner with MJ was worth it, of course, so as Peter crawled into bed that evening, the expensive, million-thread-count sheets cooled off his overheated skin as the anticipation of the morning settled in his stomach.

Mr. Stark not showing up, and calling him at quarter after nine was a bucket of ice water he hadn’t anticipated. That had definitely put the flames out, entirely, if only briefly.

“I’m so sorry, Peter.” He had said for the third time in a row. “Pep was running late, and Morgan needed to be driven to school, and then Happy said there wasn’t going to be enough time for the jet and to take the suit – and that he’d take the day off to spend with your Aunt? Thanks for the heads up about _that_ by the way – so I’m on my way now, I swear. I’m so sorry.”

“Mr. Stark, it’s okay. I mean, a text would have been nice, obviously, but I’ll meet you at the auditorium, it’s fine.”

Mr. Stark huffed on the other end of the line. “I wasn’t going to blow you off with a text.”

“No, ‘course not, leaving me standing outside my hotel for almost an hour was definitely a way better way to do that.” Peter deadpanned.

He cursed under his breath. “Pete I–”

“It’s fine, seriously. It’s okay. After the presentation. I’m sure you can find a way to make it up to me.”

“Oh, I’ll find a way to make it up to you.” Mr. Stark replied darkly, voice pitching in a way that zinged straight down Peter’s spine and promptly re-routed the blood flow away from his brain. “Actually, here, let me give you a little precursor–”

“Nope!” Peter interrupted, cutting him off loud enough that a woman walking by on the street turned and glared at him. He ducked his head in apology. “We’re not doing this now. Strictly professional.”

“I’d hardly say that things are strictly professional now, given that your co–”

“Tony!”

Mr. Stark chuckled on the other end of the line. “Alright, kid, have it your way. I’ll meet you at the university in an hour.”

Which had brought them to this moment, listening behind the scenes just years after Mr. Stark had first presented his multi-million-dollar therapy program, the initial version of BARF that they had been reworking and improving together in recent years. This time, they were presenting it in partnership, a new hybrid of Peter’s chemical compound that could be used simultaneously with a refined version of the original BARF programming to create a more affordable, yet still relatively costly, trauma therapy program for the excessively traumatized.

Or, as Mr. Stark sometimes affectionately referred to it, the Cyborg Treatment Program. After everything, the only reason they’d even returned to improve the system had been for their favourite resident ex-prisoner of war.

“You ready, kid?” Mr. Stark asked, interrupting Peter’s thoughts – or rather, his heavy breathing.

“I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to this.” He admitted, his mouth feeling suddenly dry and chalky.

“It gets easier. The first time is always the worst. But you’re going to be a natural. You’re Spider-Man, for Thor’s sake, just channel some of that superhero cockiness and you’ll be fine.”

“I think that’s more of an Iron Man thing, Mr. Stark.”

“Fine, picture them naked.”

“I mean, I thought there’d only be one person you’d want me to–” Peter broke off with a grin when the fingers on his shoulder dug deeper into flesh. An obvious warning.

Before Mr. Stark could even quip back, they were stepping out onto the stage together, appearing in the back of the scene, just after Mr. Stark had been able to keep Peter from dusting away, yanking off Thanos’ gauntlet the first time, ending with a touching – and strictly platonic – hug.

The crowd went wild.

Suddenly, Peter wasn’t nervous at all.

“Good morning,” He started easily. “When Mr. Stark first presented the Binary-Augmented Retro-Framing system, I was still in elementary school with serious plans on making all my space cowboy dreams come true.” Peter smiled easily at the tremor of laughter, glancing over at Tony who was watching him with a mixture of pride and encouragement.

“When I could understand it, the science behind the whole program was fascinating to me, and as I’m sure you’ll agree with me, after the war, BARF suddenly became all the more necessary as we, collectively, started recovering from a globalized trauma. Except the majority of the population was not going to be able to afford a multi-million-dollar program, right?

“I wish you’d been there when Mr. Stark had gone through the first few Marks of the program, and had told the Avengers over dinner one night how proud he was that it was down to a mere five-hundred-million.” He paused, dramatically rolling his eyes in Mr. Stark’s direction as the crowd rumbled with humour again.

“After we’d given him a hard time, he huffed and puffed for a few minutes, but then he said something that was going to change the course of this project forever. With that sarcasm we know and tolerate – I mean love – he said ‘it’s not like I can give everyone a tab of acid the way they’re trying to treat depression these days.’ What he meant, I think, was that he would do that, if he could, because that’s the way he’d treated his own mental health back in the eighties.”

“And it worked!” Tony cut in, grinning.

Peter laughed. “Except, as it turns out, it was about the be almost that easy. Which is what brings us here today.”

Mr. Stark took over then, launching into a brief explanation of the science between the chemical compound Peter had developed, which utilized both the beta-adrenergic receptors and the endocannabinoid receptors in the brain to control and hippocampus and amygdala’s responses during submersion in the BARF system.

They traded back and forth with ease, poking fun, answering a multitude of questions, and ending when they strode off stage together to a thunderous applause.

Peter was on an adrenaline high, rounding on Mr. Stark the second they were out of view and throwing his arms around his neck, pulling him into a crushing hug.

“That was _amazing_ , Mr. Stark!” He exclaimed, as Tony laughed lightly and patted him affectionately on the back a few times. He gently pulled back, face mirroring the joy Peter felt.

“That was all you, kid. All of this. You made this happen.”

To Peter’s embarrassment, he flushed under the heady praise. Before he could respond, they were both captured by Tony’s new PA, providing them a brief rundown on the next few minutes, which included a further question-period-slash-cocktail-hour with a mixture of faculty, future PhD graduates, and a few incoming undergrads holding the prestigious full-ride scholarship Mr. Stark had taken to offering every year.

Not being one to love mingling with a bunch of strangers, Peter shoved a hand in his pocket and stroked the smooth stone he kept there to ground himself. With a drink balanced in the other, he found himself able to field question after question with relative ease.

Across the room, Mr. Stark flowed through the crowd like a natural, schmoozing and charming the way he had been doing for decades. It was hard not to be envious, watching his natural rhythm, the perfect smile that reappeared over and over, not a muscle twitch out of place.

It wasn’t long before the crowd had thinned slightly – or rather, the crowd around _him_ had thinned – a sizeable group still gathered around Mr. Stark, faces turned towards him in eager interest. Peter was contemplating freshening his drink when a hand snaked out, wrapping around his wrist, and the man attached was drawing him towards the far end of the room.

“Oh, h-hey Josh,” Peter stuttered out, glancing over his shoulder to see if Mr. Stark was watching him, but as far as Peter could tell his back was still turned. He let Josh lead his through the doorway at the back of the room, spilling into a small, staging room attached to the larger hall.

“Heya handsome.” Josh purred, pressing Peter back into the wall, an arm over his head. “Been a while. I thought I’d have heard from you by now.”

“Yeah, I’m really sorry, I’ve been busy.” Peter admitted, glancing towards the closed door.

“Are you still free after all this? We could go back to my place, order something in? Catch up?” His green eyes were light and open, blond hair cropped shorter against his scalp than the last time Peter had seen him, just a few weeks earlier.

He’d met Josh during a visit to see MJ six months ago. When they’d first met, so plastered they could barely stand, they’d stumbled out an alleyway behind some seedy bar MJ had picked, jerking each other off quickly and without finesse. It’d been too easy after that, calling up Josh a few days before his trips to Boston to meet for drinks, which slowly morphed into ordering in pizzas, smoking up, and exploring the world of pleasure that opened up between them. 

They both knew it wasn’t anything serious.

“I’m not, actually,” Peter said with a wince. “That’s part of why I didn’t call. I’m, uh, I’m actually seeing someone. It’s pretty new, but I think it’s going to go somewhere serious and I’d like to see it through.”

Josh immediately nodded and pulled away from Peter, arm dropping back down to his side with a sheepish smile.

“I’m sorry, Parker, I probably should have called before just showing up here.”

“Not your fault, I should have said.” Peter protested.

“You know, if you’re around for a bit and you just want to grab a beer and, I don’t know, throw some darts or something some time, that’d be cool to. Doesn’t have to be anything more than that. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the fucking has been spectacular. But friendship’s just as easy.” Josh advised him, ducking his head slightly, as if embarrassed.

Peter would by lying if he hadn’t felt the same. Obviously, for this to have gone on as long as it had, there was something else there. An ease and comfort Peter valued.

“That’d be great.” He agreed. “I can’t this time around, but next time, I’ll call you and maybe we can all go out together, invite MJ and your roommate, uh, Brian?”

“Brandon.” He corrected.

“Right, sorry. Listen, I should probably get back, but thanks for coming, man. And thanks for everything, you know, before that.” Peter offered earnestly, earning him a burst of laughter because Josh had told him from the beginning that there was definitely something wrong with Peter thanking him for the fucking.

“My pleasure. I’ll just, uh,” He nodded towards the alternate exit from their small room that led out into the hallway, while Peter made his way back into the conference room. He’d barely made it two steps through the door and into the room when a hand clamped down on his shoulder again, and he glanced up to a careful calculated look from Mr. Stark.

The intensity built an immediate thrum of pleasure low in his belly.

“That wasn’t, Tony–” Peter immediately started to protest because he could already see the gears turning in Mr. Stark’s mind. Of course they would be, because Peter’s would have been doing the exact same thing if the roles were reversed. The pang of jealousy at even the thought of Tony stepping off with some hot, young guy wasn’t all that surprising.

“Come on, kid, I think we’re just about wrapped up here. Let’s head back to your place.”

Tony led him out of the university in silent, measured steps he’d clearly taken a dozen times before to where the car was waiting for them. Anticipation thrummed along Peter’s nerves, making his palms sweaty and his heart race. He was nudged into the car first with Tony climbing in after him, providing the address of Peter’s hotel to the driver before Tony was pressing the button on the console.

The partition between the back seat and the driver slid closed.

“Tony–”

Before Peter could get anything more out, Mr. Stark’s mouth was on his, a hand clamped firmly across the back of his neck, tipping his face upwards for the taking. It was a hard, intense kiss, punctuated with a deep sweep of Mr. Stark’s tongue in his mouth, and a firm bite to his lower lip that had him squirming in his seat, pressing closer.

It seemed Mr. Stark was on a mission to ravage him, as his other hand gripped his hip and tugged him closer, forcing Peter half into his lap. Peter frantically tried to match him, battling Mr. Stark’s tongue with his own, hands coming up to grasp at the lapels of his jacket and gain any semblance of control over the kiss.

This time, it was even better, because Peter already _knew_.

He knew the rasping sensation of Mr. Stark’s roughened finger tips on his skin, how hard they’d press down to hold him still – almost leaving bruises if it wasn’t for his healing factor. The way he tasted of mint with undertones of rich, black coffee and smelled just faintly of expensive cologne.

He knew now that if he said Tony’s name just right, or asked him anything in a sweet, pleading voice, that Mr. Stark would groan and kiss him harder, taking whatever he could get from him.

Tony abruptly broke away, his mouth trailing back to Peter’s ear as he spoke. “You’re a little” – _kiss_ – “cocktease” – _kiss_ – “aren’t you?”

Peter groaned and tipped his head, the words actually processing a few seconds later.

Yes, absolutely he was. He’d be anything Mr. Stark wanted him to be.

Except, wait.

“What?” Peter asked, trying to still him with a firm hand on his chest.

“What, what?” Teeth nibbled at his earlobe, making him shudder.

“You think I’m teasing you?”

“No, before, the guy.” Tony corrected, as the hand on his hip starts pulling Peter’s shirt out from where it’s tucked into his slacks, sliding across overheated skin. “If I remember correctly you said something about a guest lecture at MIT, some guy, jealousy, ringing any bells here, Parker?”

Peter laughed in spite of himself, keeping a firm grip on Tony’s lapels when he made a move to pull away, promptly kissing the frown off his mouth. Dropping off slightly, he leaned forward and pressed his head against Mr. Stark’s chin.

“That’s not what – yes, obviously that rings some bells – but that’s not what that was. I didn’t, like, plan that or something.” He breathed, releasing him when he was sure he wasn’t going to pull away, to start tugging at his tie, and undoing a few buttons at the top of his shirt.

Tony just blinked at him.

Peter filled in the blanks. “That was actually the guy I’ve been seeing the last couple months.”

“ _Oh_.” Tony flinched away, guilty hands coming off Peter immediately while his face made the smooth and effortless transition into something akin to the media mask Peter was familiar with.

He rushed to corrected him. “It’s over now, though. He didn’t realize, which I mean, he wouldn’t, because it was just a casual thing, but I told him. That there was someone else, and that I – well I told him I wanted to see where this would go.”

Peter licked his lips and swallowed hard as Tony regarded him carefully for a moment. When he smirked, eyes glancing down at Peter’s mouth, the knot in his chest released immediately.

“Planned, not planned, same difference. Same impact. I was jealous as hell.”

The confidence Peter needed surged back with a vengeance as he slid closer to him on the seat, gripping the headrest behind Tony’s head and using it for leverage to swing a leg over his thighs and bracket his hips.

“A happy little accident.” Peter quipped, stealing the breath from Tony’s mouth as he licked back between his lips, threading his hands through his hair. The reference was pointedly ignored.

“Does this mean I can still fuck you into the mattress when we get back to the hotel?”

Tony’s hands skirted across his back, tugging him forward to ground against the unmistakable erection tenting his slacks.

Peter whined, licking a strip under his jaw and rolling forward again, tormenting them both.

“No,” He breathed. “You promised we could switch it up next time, and now it’s next time.”

Digging his fingers into Peter’s hips, Tony gasped into his throat as he bit down on the curve of his neck, right where he had dragged the collar aside for more access. 

“I stand by what I said. A dirty little cocktease.” Tony growled.

“I’ll give you want you want, Tony.” Peter promised quietly, snaking a hand down between them to grip Tony hard through his pants.

The car slowed to a stop, tipping Peter backwards on Tony’s lap and he swayed for a minute. Regaining his balance, he scurried to get off Tony’s lap and quickly retied his tie into a mockery of the knot he’d had that morning. 

Tony followed suit, and with barely presentable attire and a hand on Peter’s shoulder he steered them both towards the elevators inside the luxurious, over indulgent hotel. Thankfully, Tony kept his hands to himself in the elevator, giving Peter a minute to get himself – and his double-time breathing – under control.

His cock ached between his legs and Tony might not have known it, but he had been seconds away from losing it in the car.

It was a blessing and a curse, these senses. Leaving him with a hair pin trigger but the refractory period of a teenager on speed. He cringed, thinking of how much worse it had been a few years ago. At least Tony didn’t seem to care; quite the opposite if Peter’s hypothesis was correct.

Once the key had clicked into the door to his suite, Tony practically shoved him through the doorway, letting it slam shut behind him as he pushed him down onto the massive bed and climbed over him. He threaded both his hands through Peter’s hair before slowly stroking one down the side of his face, settling firmly at the base of his throat, holding, but not squeezing.

It was intoxicating and thrilling, sending little sparks of pleasure all the way south until he was twitching and leaking in his pants, desperate and right on the edge again in seconds.

“Tony, come on, please.” Peter begged, trying to manage an exchange of sloppy, open-mouthed kisses as his hands skated across Tony’s chest and plucked at his shirt buttons again. He’d done this already, damn it, pawing at him until he spread fabric. Pushing the shirt and jacket together over Tony’s hips had initially seemed like a solid plan, but he groaned in frustration when he realized he hadn’t unbuttoned Tony’s cuffs.

“How much do you love this shirt?”

“Hate it.” Tony muttered into his throat, experimenting with how hard he needed to suck and bite and tease until purple bruises raised on Peter’s skin.

Peter gripped the sleeve of one wrist at a time and tugged, hard, the buttons plinking onto the floor and rolling away. Determined not to waste any time, Peter’s hands were at his waist again immediately, tugging the undershirt up and off, and unbuttoning the button on his slacks.

Saliva pooled in his mouth when his finger tips brushed Tony’s erection and he swallowed, realizing that it was him that was practically drooling for it, as he shoved the slacks down and over Tony’s perfect ass.

Finally, Tony got with the program, pulling back and stripping Peter of his own clothes, saving him the trouble of buying a new shirt, and tossing piece after piece behind him in a rush to get at the pale skin of Peter’s chest and torso. His teeth clamped down around one of Peter’s nipples, biting before he sucked it into his mouth, teasing the bud with the pointed tip of his tongue.

Peter moaned, the sound escaping him before he could hold it back, needy and desperate to his own ears.

“Tony – Tony don’t, come on, slow down you’ll make me–”

“So what?” Tony cut him off, mouth easing back only momentarily to switch nipples. “I want it. Pete, I’m an old man. I’ve got one in me, but you – you’ve got like three, four orgasms ahead of you, right? At least. And I want them all. Can I have them, kid?”

He asked it so casually, as if he was asking him to borrow a pen, or if Peter wanted him to make them something for lunch, except he was reaching between his legs and stroking him firmly through his pants.

It was immediately too much, the mixture of skin on skin, mouth on his chest, hand tight along his erection.

Peter came with a gasp, shuddering under the heavy weight of Tony’s body, gripping a hand through his short, silvery-brown hair to keep him still.

“That’s it,” Tony purred in his ear, “so perfect. All for me.”

As the aftershocks rushed through him, Peter was pretty sure that his erection hadn’t even flagged. Tony worked at the button of his slacks, shifting off the bed to tug them down with the mess of his boxers and yanking off his shoes as he went.

Watching through lidded eyes, Peter arched up onto his elbows as Tony stripped off the rest of his own clothes, toeing out of his loafers with a smirk, clearly relishing the way Peter’s eyes following his hands to his groin. First, all the way down, then back up in a slow stroke along the hard length of his cock, head disappearing between his fingers.

“Like what you see, Pete?”

“As if you don’t already know that.” Peter sassed, reaching out a hand, letting Tony settle half beside, half on top of him, a thigh pressed between his legs. One big hand ran up and down the length of his body.

Peter didn’t want to slow down, though, immediately using that thigh to his advantage and flipping them over. This time, it was about enacting every dirty little thought that had crossed his mind when he’d been in bed with Tony last, pinned down to the mattress and held fast to the wall.

He gave Tony just a taste of what his strength really felt like, capturing his wrists and pressing them firmly above his head, holding him still as he broke away from Tony’s mouth to licked a path down his chest.

“Strength kink.” Tony muttered under his breath. “Check.”

“That’s nothing.”

“Really? Could you, say, hold me up and fuck me against a wall?” Tony asked casually, but when Peter glanced up and smirked at him, flicking an eyebrow up with an obvious challenge, Tony’s gaze went dark and he shivered. The Adam’s apple bobbed heavily in Tony’s throat as Peter redoubled his efforts, adventuring with his mouth in every way he hadn’t been able to before.

The billionaire was a marvel, body adorned with various scars, some just small, delicate knicks, while others were larger, like the mottled scars across his chest, first from the arc reactor, then later from Siberia all those years ago. Peter hadn’t had the chance before, but this time he categorized them all, tracing each one with his mouth and a flick of his tongue.

When he made his way down to his groin, nosing along the crease of his hip, he captured one of Tony’s hands in his own and squeezed lightly. Shooting him a cheeky look, Peter wrapped his mouth around the thick, red head of his cock and slowly slid all the way down.

Tony huffed out a breath as if he’d punched him in the stomach, following it with a low groan as Peter readjusted the hand in his to settle across the back of his head.

Give him gentle direction? Pull his hair a little? Fuck his face? Whatever Tony wanted, as long as he never pulled him off this glorious length.

Peter sucked him like the world was ending, working him over with tongue and lips and the slightest bit of teeth when he realized that Tony liked a little bit of pain with his please. A little bit of risk.

Not that that had been surprising in the least.

It almost ended too soon, clearly, when the easy hold of Tony’s hand on the back of his neck morphed into a first in his hair and tugged him back.

“Okay, that’s definitely enough of that.” Tony said on a laugh, eyes blown back, chest heaving as he tried to get himself under control.

Peter couldn’t resist rubbing up against one of his thighs, doing absolutely nothing to sooth his aching prick as he pushed back and off the bed, padding over to his toiletries kit, strewn across the console table where he retrieved, and returned with, a small tube of lube.

Tony eyed him softly, not hesitating, but cautious. “You sure, kid?”

Peter smiled. “Come on, Tony, just let me give you want.” Then, as an afterthought, grinned and added, “just let me give it to you.”

The older man groaned, throwing a hand over his eyes. “That was awful. Terrible pop culture references, cheesy come-ons. Are you sure you’re my mentee? I thought you’d at least get a little cooler when you got older.”

“You love it.” Peter quipped, before he smacked a hand on Tony’s hip. “Turn over.”

“Kinky.”

“Shut up.” But they were both laughing. Peter climbed back onto the bed and stroked a hand down his spine, relishing the perfect presentation of Tony’s ass, straight up in the air and begging for his attention.

Peter licked a stripe across one cheek, biting the curve where it met his thigh and teasing a grunt from Tony. He pulled his cheeks apart, pausing to admire the sight of Tony’s entrance, winking up at him. When he abandoned one perfect globe to reach between Tony’s legs and give his cock a few long, firm strokes, Peter was rewarded by a sharp inhale of breath. 

“You tell me if I hurt you.” Peter cautioned and he could practically hear Tony’s eyes rolling.

“I have done this before, you know?” Tony snarked. “Only, say, about a hundred times or more. You’re not going to hurt me.”

Peter almost wants to say something about the fact that there’s an untapped reservoir of super strength he was holding back at any given moment, but he had a suspicion that he may not be the first enhanced person Tony’d been with over the years. No one ever talked about it, but the signs had been just shy of obvious for years.

Instead, he leaned forward and licked a hot stripe across Tony’s hole, relishing the soft sounds Tony breathed out under him, before he slicked up his fingers and pressed forward.

It was white hot and impossibly tight on the inside of Tony’s body, making Peter shiver and want to push in and pound him into the mattress, exactly the way he imagined Tony had been fantasizing all these years. The realization that he desperately wanted to give this man everything, be _good_ for him, was staggering if not painfully, amazingly arousing.

One finger became two, scissoring gently, until he’d added a third and Tony was practically the one begging, mewling out Peter’s name as his fingers flexed and released on the sheets above his head.

“That’s enough – oh god – come on kid, I was ready like ten minutes ago.” Tony gritted out, shoving back hard onto Peter’s fingers. He ignored him, rolls his eyes at the back of his Tony’s and shoved him further up the bed, spreading him wide to admire his handiwork for a minute, before he lined himself up and slid in deep.

Peter gasped sharply at the all-consuming heat that wrapped around him, making his toes curl. It was almost too much, Peter needing to squeeze his eyes shut to avoid shooting off inside of Tony like some virgin kid. Except Tony didn’t give him much time to adjust, pulling forward and thrusting back hard, impaling himself on Peter without so much as a by-your-leave.

Which didn’t really seem fair, ‘cause Tony had been in charge last time.

So instead, Peter wrapped an arm around his chest and clamped down hard, holding him still so he could fuck into him long and deep and slow, setting a pace that had himself trembling, and had Tony groaning desperately into the fabric. 

“It’s not – all – about – you.” Peter huffed out, rolling his hips. He left trailing, open-mouthed kisses all along Tony’s spine while he used his other hand to slip around Tony’s hip, creating a loose circle of him to thrust into. It was barely more than a little tease. A taste. 

“Course not. I just want us both to feel good,” Tony replied, innocently. “You can’t tell me you don’t want it, Peter. I know you do. You want it hard and fast, fucking me until I scream, right? You said it yourself, you want me drooling for it. So come on baby, just let go. Fuck me like you mean it. Fuck me, sweetheart.”

Peter all but whimpered in response, pulling out slow and slamming back in, picking up the pace in a way that was punishing and almost unbearable for both of them, albeit of different reasons. He ignored Tony’s smug whisper of _that’s right_ and set to literally fucking that smirk off his face, kicking Tony’s legs apart wider and forcing his face down with a hand on the back of his neck.

The orgasm hit him out of nowhere, without so much as a warning, and suddenly Peter’s nerves were fraying at the ends as pleasure sizzled through his body. He cried out and his thrusts stuttered, only for a second, before he could feel Tony slow to match him, easing him through it.

He didn’t need that though. He didn’t need it, and he didn’t want it.

With a sharp movement, he used a little more of that super strength to tug Tony backwards, onto his knees but facing forward, completing seating him on his lap. Peter was so deep inside him now, he absently wondered if Tony could taste him in the back of his throat.

“That’s fucking hot.” Tony growled, twisting in his arms to capture his mouth, his hands free to wander because Peter had him gripped in a way that kept him stable and upright. 

“You’re fucking hot.” Peter muttered into his mouth, shifting slightly until – oh yeah, he found the right angle, hitting that perfect spot inside Tony that had him gasping and squirming desperately in his arms. Having him this way… it made Peter feel powerful.

It was more than he had ever expected.

“You’re going to kill me, Pete.” Then, desperately, “baby, please.”

“This is what you wanted.” Peter grunted. “So, keep quiet and take it.”

He felt Tony shudder in his arms, felt the faint whisper of a smile of his lips as Tony’s kisses lost their shape, becoming more of a trading of breath and tongues sweeping against each other.

Peter sucked his tongue into his mouth as he reached a hand around his front, wrapping his fingers around Tony’s cock again to give him a firm stroke. Tony was wet and slick with pre-come that had been steadily leaking from the tip, easing the slide.

Tony whined, thrusting up into his grip.

“You’re so good, kid. So good. Of course, you are. I’m never going to get tired of this. Fuck, I’ve wanted you forever. You’re so fucking good, shit Peter, come on. I’m so close. Oh shit. I’m – I’m going to come.” He kept babbling, directly into Peter’s ear, driving him wild.

Peter thrust into him with purpose then, hand flying over Tony’s cock until the brunet went still and gasped, coming in thick streams that shot up across his chest and belly before slowing to drooling over Peter’s hand. The entrance to his body seized up like a vice grip, milking Peter for all he was worth.

And Tony, the prick that he was, reached back and yanked Peter’s hair, hard, not even giving him a chance as he shot off like a rocket, pulsing deep into Tony’s body once more. 

Arms still wrapped around him, Peter held Tony plastered to his chest as they shook and panted through the aftershocks together. It wasn’t long before his thighs started to burn and he slowly eased Tony forward, slipping out of his body and rolling to the side of the bed to pluck the nearest article of clothing off the floor.

He moped at Tony’s chest carelessly, with Tony’s own undershirt apparently, earning him a displeased grunt. Peter rolled his eyes as he tucked in against his chest. 

“That was something else.” Tony whispered into his hair, pressing his lips to the crown of his head.

“You’re welcome.”

Peter was rewarded with a sharp smack across his ass. “Don’t get a big head.”

“Bigger than yours, sir?”

Peter didn’t miss the way Tony twitched, making himself a mental note that next time, he was taking full advantage of _that_. Can’t believe he’d forgotten to try it this time around.

“We should talk, Pete.” Tony murmured. He curled closer, pressing his face into the soft line of Tony’s chest as fingers teased through his hair, stroke gently.

“Seems pretty straightforward to me.” Peter admitted. “You want this, I want this. We’ve _been_ wanting this for years. It was bound to happen eventually.”

“And when you say ‘this’, you mean…?”

“Everything, Tony. Or at least that’s what this is to me. It’s fine if it’s not like that for you. I wouldn’t have said yes the first time if I hadn’t been okay with it just being casual, or whatever. But for me, I want it all. Whatever you’re willing to give me.”

Tony sighed, heavily. “People will talk.”

“Yeah.”

“The media.”

“Definitely.”

“Your Aunt May is going to kill me.”

“I can handle May. But that’s a lot about other people, and absolutely nothing about you. What do you want, Tony?” Peter challenged gently, and it’s not that he has his head in the clouds, he knows it’s going to be hard and difficult and awkward. And people are going to talk about them in ways that will make his stomach churn.

But he also knows what this means to him. What Tony means to him.

There’s nothing dirty or wrong about any of that.

“You, Peter. All of it. Of course, all of it.” Tony murmured into his hair.

“Then it’s just that simple. The rest, we’ll figure out along the way.”

“When did you get so wise? Gross.” Tony teased, jostling Peter with a playful nudge. “When we tell the team, maybe you could web them up with some of that super strength stuff, first? Just so they don’t kill me before I’ve said my piece.”

The mental image of Bucky and Steve, both strung up against the wall, limbs plastered in place must have occurred to them both, because all the tension slips away immediately and they’re laughing, Tony curled his arms possessively around Peter, keeping him close.

“I’ll give them the long-lasting version, so you’ve got time to run.” Peter quipped.

_It’s going to be okay_ ; he thinks with contentment.

Yeah, it’s probably going to be a little bit awful, and May is going to cry, because he’d cry if he were her in all this, but that’s okay. Because what Peter’s found here, with this man, at this time in his life, is nothing short of love. May will understand that in time. Everyone will. Or they won’t and he won’t give a damn.

Peter has loved him for years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay well!

**Author's Note:**

> Stay well.


End file.
